


Dueling Councilors

by Lady_in_Red



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Ficlet, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-03-09 00:12:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18905518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_in_Red/pseuds/Lady_in_Red
Summary: Brienne's least favorite part of her new post as Lady Commander of the Kingsguard is dealing with the new Master of Coin.





	Dueling Councilors

“Lord Bronn, Lord Tyrion, what did we agree?” Brienne’s voice was cool, laced with steel.

Bronn rolled his eyes in Tyrion’s direction, but Tyrion had learned not to side with Bronn. Not against her. “No more brothel stories at small council meetings.”

“And?” she prompted.

“No whores, no cunts, no cocks.” He said it all flatly, as if he’d repeated it many times. He had. “No fun,” he added under his breath.

Brienne cocked an eyebrow, and he sighed loudly, a petulant child grown weathered and cynical. Bronn reached into his pocket and fished out a handful of dragon coins. King Bran hadn’t wanted to change the monetary system. An unnecessary expense.

Bronn’s mouth was one of her least favorite parts of small council meetings, but Brienne had found Bronn’s weaknesses easily enough. Money, obviously. And pride. He fancied himself the best swordsman in at least two kingdoms, and smart enough to know when not to fight.

Except when it came to Brienne. After a particularly frustrating meeting, she challenged him to a duel, fought on a private stone terrace overlooking the Blackwater. Her prize was his silence, and if he broke that silence, he owed her gold. If he’d won, well, she didn’t care to think about what he’d wanted. A taste of what Jaime had gotten. 

Brienne had considered unmanning him for that demand, delivered with a smarmy smile and a long, slow perusal of her from eyes to toes, but the realm had few enough lords and ladies to keep the peace. She couldn’t castrate all of them for making foul suggestions. Besides, Bronn was not a man who would ever understand or appreciate the depth or breadth of what she and Jaime were to each other, in and out of bed.

She’d fought Jaime Lannister with two hands, even if he was in chains, and won. She'd fought the Hound, and won. She'd fought the dead, and survived. An aging sellsword with a filthy mouth was no challenge. He once hit Jaime with his golden hand, she remembered Jaime confessing that late one night, his rueful laughter delighting her. 

She’d swept Bronn’s legs out from under him and put the tip of her blade under his chin right after reminding him about his Stokeworth betrothed and how enamored she’d been of Jaime. She'd heard that story, too. As time passed, talking about Jaime hurt less. And it kept him alive as more than just an epithet and a well-worn tale of his finest and most misunderstood deed.

Bronn tossed the coins onto the table in front of her. Tyrion knew better than to throw money at her. He passed the coins directly to Davos. They always ended up in his pockets anyway.

Brienne didn’t even pick up them up, simply slid the pile of heavy gold coins across to Davos with a smile. He was her favorite on the council, his honesty and pragmatism a welcome respite from the scheming and maneuvering of the capital. “A few more meetings, you’ll have plenty of coin for your ships. A few sails, at least.”


End file.
